


Champagne Problems (Panic)

by Qayin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Broken Engagement, Champagne Problems, Engagement, F/M, M/M, Panic Attacks, mentions of dead pack members
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28629522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qayin/pseuds/Qayin
Summary: When Stiles walk into his surprise engagement-party he takes one look at Lydia; beautiful, smart, charming Lydia; and he says no. Panic ensures, and Derek is the one who manages to calm him down.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 14
Kudos: 229





	Champagne Problems (Panic)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been listening a lot at Taylor Swift's album Evermore (2020) and this is the result.

Scott had been there to pick Stiles up from the airport. Besides the tiredness of traveling back home from university, seeing Scott had been a happy affair and the two had hugged before collecting Stiles’s luggage and lugged it all the way to the car. 

Stiles’s dad had been forced to take an extra shift, and he had sounded really upset about not being able to collect him, but Stiles didn’t mind. His dad had said he’d taken the rest of the weekend off once the impromptu shift was over, so there’d be plenty of time to hang out. 

“Damn,” Stiles said when he caught sight of the familiar black car Scott was leading him over to. He twisted his head to give Scott a wide-ass grin. “Derek let you borrow the  _ Camaro _ ?” 

Derek  _ never  _ borrowed it out, least of all if Stiles would be within six feet of it. Scott just shot Stiles a cheeky grin and popped the truck. 

“What can I say, I’m a convincing Alpha,” Scott said. Stiles snorted with laughter. 

“I’m freaking driving,” he said and rushed over to the drivers side. 

“Derek said no,” Scott said but didn’t move to take the driver's seat. Instead he walked around and slid into the passenger's seat. 

“Hello Baby, we’ve been waiting for this, haven’t we?” Stiles cooed and caressed the steering wheel excitedly as he jumped in. Scott rolled his eyes. 

“Shall I give the two of you some privacy?” he asked and handed over the car-keys. Stiles just grinned, feeling the manic edge of it tug at his face. He found that he really didn’t care. 

The car ride back home to Stiles’s home was filled with jokes and chatter. It was almost like the good old days - even the way Scott texted on his phone every few minutes like when they were in high school and Scott was obsessed with Allison. 

At the thought of Allison a pang of grief and guilt flashed through Stiles’s chest and he clenched the wheel tighter. Allison Argent, young and sweet, only seventeen. 

If Stiles had known when she died that he would be thinking of her and quote ABBA only a few years later he would have seriously tried to hurt himself back then. Now, the grief and guilt carefully eased up and he actually thought Allison would have liked it. 

He didn’t know if she had been an ABBA fan, but the girl had been the height of sophistication, so,  _ obviously _ . 

“So, how’s Malia?” Stiles asked Scott to distract himself and guiltily Scott’s phone shot down into his lap. Stiles grinned. 

“She’s good.” Scott said, his voice going all goofy the way he always did when he talked about his girlfriend. Stiles nodded, pleased. He was happy for them. They seemed like a good fit, actually, and Stiles would be devastated if they didn’t work out. He’s not sure who out of the two he would have to beat up if they ever broke each other’s hearts, Scott or Malia, but Stiles knew it wouldn’t be pretty. 

“We’re kind of thinking of moving together,” Scott admitted. Stiles glanced over to him. 

“Dude, that’s awesome!” he said and Scott beamed brightly. 

“Yeah,” he said, then his voice turned troubled. “Then Lydia found out, so now  _ she’s _ picking out colour-swatches for our place.” 

“That’s Lydia,” Stiles laughed fondly. Scott watched him, that goofy smile back on him, brown eyes sparkling. Stiles mock-frowned. “What?” 

Scott shook his head. “Nothing, man, I’m just happy for the two of you.” 

“ _ You’re _ the one moving in with Malia,” Stiles laughed again. Scott shrugged. 

“Yeah. I’m happy for both of us.” 

Stiles glanced over at his friend and shook his head. Scott always did become a goof when he was in love. It was kind of nice. 

The Camaro rolled up in front of the familiar house Stiles had grown up in and Stiles cut the engine. 

“Wanna come in for a bit?” he asked and stepped out. “Dad won’t be home yet.” 

Scott bounced out on the other side and went to collect Stiles bags. 

“Yeah, sure,” he said brightly. 

Together they walked up to the door, Scott holding his luggage and Stiles just clutching his carry-on back-pack. He fished out his keys, but as he was to push them in he noticed the door was unlocked. 

Immediately his guard was up. His dad never forgot to lock, and his hand froze with the key out in the air. 

“Scott,” he whispered. “Door’s open.” 

He glanced back at Scott who put on a concerned face and clutched Stiles luggage harder. Scott nodded solemnly. 

“Open it.” 

Stiles did, feeling his heart pound in his chest. His mind had already concocted several bad things that could have happened to his dad - everything from a heart attack to break-in to  _ supernatural break-in _ . 

In the hallway, nothing looked amiss, and Stiles hesitantly snuck in, feeling Scott follow him like a shadow. Stiles took a few, carefully steps inward and mentally reviewed how to do CPR while he tried to force away the image of having to apply the knowledge on his dad, then he stepped into the living room. 

“ _ Surprise _ !” a chorus of voices screamed. A loud bang from a confetti-gun exploded, causing Stiles to jump almost a metre in the air. 

In his living room literally everyone Stiles even remotely cared about huddled together, dressed in fancy attire and stylish party-hats. The living room was decorated in a style he immediately recognized as Lydia’s, and speaking of his girlfriend - she was standing at the front, together with his dad and Lydia’s parents. 

Stiles glanced around wide-eyed at everything. 

“What’s going on?” he asked. Everyone was grinning and for a second Stiles wondered if he had forgotten someone’s birthday. Had he forgotten  _ his  _ birthday? No, definitely not. 

Lydia smiled brightly and walked towards him, but instead of coming in for a hug or a kiss she stopped just in front of him. She looked coy in that way Stiles knew was all pretend and cleared her throat, then she produced a pillow that she placed smartly on the floor. 

Stiles watched in confusion as Lydia took his hand and languidly slid down with one knee on the pillow. His eyebrows were reaching his hairline and he glanced quickly to the group. His dad was grinning widely, and Lydia’s mom was crying. Malia stood next to Lydia’s dad, grinning like a cheshire cat. Next to her stood Derek who wasn’t grinning, but that sense of familiarity actually calmed Stiles thundering heartbeat. 

He looked back to Lydia and her perfectly styled strawberry blonde locks and a beautiful designer dress that probably wasn’t all that easy to kneel down in. Lydia squeezed his hand, grounding him to her. 

“Stiles Stilinski,” she said sweetly. With her free hand she held up an opened jewellery box with a golden, masculine ring in it. Stiles stared at the ring and good thing Lydia held him, otherwise he would have dropped to the floor. “Will you marry me?” 

“W-what?” he stuttered, eyes fluttering from the ring to Lydia’s earnest face. 

Lydia Martin had always been a force of nature. What Lydia wanted she took. Stiles knew this,  _ loved  _ that about her. It might be untraditional, but Stiles knew that there would be no other way Lydia would ever get engaged. When she was ready  _ she  _ would ask. And she was asking him. 

“Will you marry me?” she said again, smiling brightly. 

She was asking him. And he should say yes. But… 

“No.” Stiles said. Lydia’s face twisted in confusion. 

“What?” she asked incredulously. Stiles shook his head, feeling his heart pick up speed and almost defen him. “What do you mean, no?” 

Stiles pulled his hand to him like her touch burned and shook his head again. His body was trembling slightly, but the moment Lydia released him it grew until Stiles felt like he was having a seizure. He couldn’t breathe. 

Stiles pulled at his t-shirt, feeling like it was suffocating him. He couldn’t breathe. He was having a heart-attack. He was dying. 

Someone appeared by his side and gripped his arm. It was his dad, but his touch sent another burst of panic through him. 

“No,” he gasped for air and tried to push his dad off while also trying to keep his seizuring body under control. “No, no, let go, let me go -” 

“Stiles,” his dad tried, the grip released him but did not move away from him. 

Then someone else appeared next to him and this grip was a lot harder, almost to the point of painful. Except Stiles could barely feel it through his panic. He struggled to get out of the grip, but it just tightened like a vice, and then - 

“Stiles,” Derek practically roared and Stiles jumped. His head shot up to Derek’s face, staring into his eyes, a green, blue, hazel, brown, then they flashed red. “You’re okay, breathe.” 

Stiles shook his head and clung to Derek’s hand as it held his arm painfully. 

“I can’t breathe,” he gasped. “I’m dying - I’m -” 

“Breathe,” Derek said again and took a deep breath, and Stiles copied him, once, twice, thrice. The pressure on his chest eased and he could breathe. The flush of pain that had spread over his body eased, seeping through Stiles and into Derek. “You’re okay.” 

Stiles continued to breathe and cling to Derek, who at this point was the only thing keeping him standing. His knees were weak and trembling, and there were all these people here, and Lydia - 

“Get me out of here,” Stiles gasped, feeling his throat constrict again. “Help me out, please -” 

Derek’s grip tightened, pulling Stiles back, and then Derek nodded. 

“Okay,” he said softly and practically manhandled Stiles away from the living room and up the stairs. Derek didn’t stop until they were in Stiles’s old bedroom. The door closed and Derek sat him down on the bed, but when he moved to pull away Stiles kept gripping his hand. 

“Don’t leave,” Stiles whispered, panic in his voice. Derek was like the only thing keeping him up right now, and if he let go Stiles was sure he’d drop like a puppet and be left boneless in a miserable heap. Derek watched him stoically, then he nodded again. 

“Okay.” he said and sat down next to Stiles. Stiles clung to him, feeling how his body trembled. Derek started to breathe loudly, in and out, and Stiles honed into the way his breath came and went and slowly, painfully, his panic attack started to edd down. 

* * *

The next couple hours passed in a blur. Stiles stayed in his room and Derek remained just as he had promised. Eventually Derek managed to convince Stiles to let go of him, and Stiles had lied down in bed while Derek moved over to the desk. Even though Stiles didn’t look at him, he could feel Derek’s eyes on him occasionally, heavy and worried. 

His dad had tried to get in, but Derek had locked when they entered, which Stiles was grateful for. Derek had called out to his dad, though, telling him that Stiles was alright. 

Stiles didn’t feel alright. He felt like he had been shot. His body felt weak and his head pounded. But he was growing restless, and needed the bathroom. Still, it took Stiles another half an hour before he pushed himself up from the bed. 

Derek immediately straightened by the desk. Stiles glanced at him. 

“Are they gone?” he asked. Derek tilted his head and nodded. 

“Just your dad and Scott left.” Derek said. 

Stiles didn’t know if he should feel relieved or mortified, but he pushed that feeling away and walked over to the door. Derek stood and followed him and Stiles wandered down into the living room like a zombie. 

Remains of the party were still visible. Confetti on the floor, balloons in the air. Lydia’s artistic decorations. Scott was busy sweeping confetti into neat piles when Stiles walked in. Stiles’s dad was putting unopened bottles of champagne back into bags. 

They both looked up when Stiles stepped in and Stiles looked around at everything. He felt like he was in a parallel universe or something. This was his dad’s living room, just like it had always been. And yet it looked completely different. 

His dad dropped the bag to the floor and walked over to him. 

“Stiles, are you okay?” At his voice Stiles' face scrunched up and he shook his head and buried himself in his father’s arms. 

He clung to his dad and his dad hugged him tightly and then, even though he had wanted to ever since Lydia dropped down on her knee, Stiles finally started crying. 

“Oh god,” Stiles moaned and sobbed into his dad’s chest. He started trembling again. “Oh god. I said no to marrying Lydia.” 

“It’s okay, son,” his dad mumbled into his hair, stroking over his back. “You’re going to be okay.” 

His dad let him cry until he felt like he’d never cry again, he was so dry, and then they pulled apart. Stiles walked over to the couch and sank down in it. Derek, who had taken over his dad’s job of collecting booze, appeared next to him and held out an open bottle of champagne. 

Stiles looked at it and laughed hollowly, but he accepted it and took a big swing. Some champagne poured out of his mouth and Stiles wiped his face with a wince. It was that sour stuff Lydia liked, really expensive with real golden flakes in it. 

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” Stiles said to no one in particular. 

“No you’re not,” said his dad and sat down next to him. Stiles leaned into him and took another swing from the bottle. 

“Is she mad?” Stiles asked meekly. His dad wrapped an arm around his shoulders and sighed. 

“Well, a little,” the sheriff said. Stiles felt his heart sink. He knew it. “But she’s also sad, and she was very concerned for you.” 

That knowledge felt even worse. It felt like something squeezed his heart like a vice and twisted it about. He hated when Lydia was sad. And that she’d be mad, sad  _ and _ worried about him for having a freaking panic-attack when she proposed to him in front of all their friends was… he didn’t even want to think about it. He wanted to be swallowed by the couch and die. 

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” Stiles repeated with a sniffle. Scott appeared next to him. 

“We should go,” Scott said awkwardly and petted Stiles' shoulder. “I’m… sorry, Stiles.” 

Stiles fought the tears from coming and grabbed Scott’s hand. 

“Can you check on her?” he asked. Scott’s brown eyes looked huge and worried, and Scott nodded gently. 

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll text you.” 

Stiles nodded and squeezed his hand. 

“I’ll walk you out, boys,” Stiles’s dad said and crawled out of the couch. Stiles watched after Scott and Derek, and watched as his dad mumble something to them at the door before he hugged Scott and shook hands with Derek. 

Stiles drank. 

His dad appeared next to him and sat down by him again. “Been a long time since I saw you panic like that.”

Stiles allowed himself to be pulled into his dad’s embrace and sniffled again. He hadn’t had panic attacks like the one today since the Nogitsune, and Allison’s death, and before that not since his mom died. 

“I didn’t know what to say,” Stiles mumbled against the sheriff’s shirt. His dad nodded softly. “I just - she asked and I just… I said no.” 

“It’s okay, son,” his dad said gently. “You’re going to be okay.” 

“Why did I say no?” Stiles said, tears coming back to his eyes. The panic was trying to rear its ugly head again, but he felt exhausted. He felt like his heart would explode. 

His head was a swarming mess, thousand questions running round and round. Why had he said no? 

Lydia, on her knees, holding out a ring and smiling at him. And Stiles just… didn’t feel ready. He had waited for Lydia Martin his entire life. What did he mean he wasn’t ready to marry her and have five strawberry blonde children with his snarky personality and Lydia’s brains? 

It was endgame. Stiles was going to become a stay-at-home dad and Lydia was going to win the Abel Prize for outstanding math-skills. It was… he had a plan. That  _ was _ the plan. 

But the pressure in his chest couldn’t be denied. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t - it felt like he would  _ never _ be ready.

Stiles swallowed. His dad stroked him over his head. 

“It’ll be okay, son.” 

* * *

Stiles spent the weekend in a haze. Scott texted and said he’d spoken to Lydia, and that she was okay. Stiles stayed in his room or on the couch with his dad, and a day early he rescheduled his flight to go earlier. 

He knew it was a shitty thing to do, but he couldn’t face Lydia. He needed to, but he  _ couldn’t. _ He couldn’t even tell his dad about his plans, so while his dad was at the store Stiles wrote a note saying he was going home early, then he texted for a ride. 

Why he texted Derek Stiles wasn’t even sure about, and why Derek arrived within fifteen minutes to pick him up was an even bigger mystery, but Stiles wasn’t ready to complain about it. He stuffed his luggage into the trunk and slipped into the passenger seat of the Camaro. 

Derek looked as he always did, kind of grumpy, his dark eyebrows furrowed together. When Stiles sat down Derek glanced at him, but without saying anything he started the car and started driving. 

They sat in silence for a while. Stiles watched the street-signs, familiar as ever. He sighed loudly as they passed the intersection to Lydia’s place. Derek politely ignored him. If Stiles thought about it, it might have been the most civil moment he and Derek had ever had. 

Except when Derek calmed him down in the middle of a panic attack by getting him to breathe and take some of his pain. After he had rejected Lydia’s marriage proposal. 

He sighed again and twisted to stare at Derek’s profile. Brooding, sharp, chiseled jaw with dark stubble. Derek had that kind of face where like, if you slapped him, his cheekbones would probably hurt  _ you _ . Not to mention that he was a werewolf and could slap you back like you just got hit by a truck. 

“Thank you for picking me up,” Stiles said eventually. Derek glanced briefly at him before he turned his eyes back on the road. “And for what you did the other day…” 

Derek shrugged. “Sure.” 

“Woah, woah, calm down, you don’t have to talk a hundred miles an hour at me,” Stiles said and actually grinned. Derek was a man of few words. And judgemental scoffs. Stiles continued to watch him, his smile fading. “How did you know what to do? With a panic attack?” 

Derek glanced those light green-hazel eyes at him. For a second it looked like he wouldn’t reply. He was frowning and his shoulders looked stiff. Then he shrugged again. 

“After the fire I kept having them.” he said silently. “Laura used to do like what I did to you then.” 

Laura. Stiles had never met the eldest Hale sibling. He didn’t even remember her, except the mutilated upper part of her that turned from a wolf’s head into a woman. Derek had just been a few years older than him so he had a vague memory of him from before the fire, but Laura had been so old that she hadn’t even registered on Stiles’s map. Kind of sad. Derek didn’t talk about her often, but Stiles knew he grieved her. 

Stiles hadn’t  _ realised  _ Derek was in mourning when they first met because… well, Derek had been kind of creepy, but as he got older he had realised that some of that anger Derek had directed Scott and his way was just grief trying to come through. He wondered if Derek had suffered panic attacks after her death, without his alpha there to help him. 

“Do you want some ice cream?” Derek asked suddenly. The question startled Stiles, mostly because it was so out of character for Derek, but Derek took off the highway and navigated the Camaro into a McDonald's parking lot. 

Stiles watched the golden M, then looked at Derek. 

“What about my flight?” he asked. Derek shot a look at the car-clock. 

“There’s time,” he said levelly. Well, he wasn't wrong. 

Stiles scoffed and opened the door, and together he and Derek walked into McDonalds. This was normal. 

Stiles ordered a McFlurry and Derek ordered a plain vanilla. Stiles watched him judgingly and Derek raised an eyebrow. 

“What?” he asked. Stiles shook his head, took the ice cream and went for a table. They sat down opposite of each other and ate in silence. Stiles stabbed his ice cream with the spoon and watched the oreos crumble under his pressure. 

Kind of like how he felt, himself, actually. 

“Have you talked with Lydia?” Derek asked. Stiles glanced up at him and frowned. 

“No.” he said, quicker than he ought. A nervous feeling punched his gut. “Why, have you?” 

Derek shook his head and licked at his ice cream. Stiles shifted in his seat and forced some of his own ice cream into his mouth. Hopefully the cold would give him brain-freeze. 

“You know what I told Erica and Boyd when they decided to leave the pack?” Derek said suddenly. 

The pack. Not my pack but  _ the _ pack. That Erica and Boyd didn’t get to grow into, but like Allison had to stay young and seventeen. Or were they sixteen? Stiles couldn’t remember. He shook his head and watched Derek. 

“If you start running, you’re fleeing. And if you start fleeing you never stop running.” 

Stiles allowed his eyebrows to knit together and his face to slip into a frown. Derek watched him calmly and licked his ice cream. 

“You think I’m running?” he asked, hurt. Derek crooked his head. 

“Aren’t you?” 

“No!” Stiles snapped and straightened in his seat. “I’m going back to collage, to get a fucking education so I don’t have to be stuck here for the rest of my life!” 

“You’re going back to Washington to avoid talking to Lydia.” Derek said calmly. 

“And just what am I supposed to say to her, huh?” Stiles hissed, then he remembered they were in a public space and lowered his voice into a hiss. “It’s not like I need to have an epic fight-out like you with all of your fucking psychotic ex-girlfriends, it’s Lydia - 

“The best fucking woman in the world! Who’s so smart, and funny and beautiful. What am I supposed to say to her after turning her down after she  _ proposed  _ to me?! In front of everyone I ever fucking knew, and I said  _ no _ ?” 

Derek’s eyebrows knitted together. Stiles knew it was a low blow bringing up Derek’s ex-girlfriends - it wasn’t even applicable. Kate Argent had been a fucking psycho, but that hadn’t been Derek’s fault and she had used him. Of course that epic fight-out had been justified. And Derek seemed to have suffered and been punished for every romance he had ever had in his life, so low blow might not even cut it, but Stiles wanted to be angry, so he didn’t care. 

His hands were aching for a fight, and for a second he was sure Derek would come through just like old times and allow him to scream and be mad, but all the fight went out of Stiles when Derek replied to him. 

“And if she is so great, doesn’t she deserve you at least  _ trying _ to explain it to her?” he said. Stiles deflated like the balloons had in the living room over the last couple of days. 

Derek was right. Stiles knew he was fleeing to not have to deal with Lydia. Not have to speak to her, or see the anger, hurt and disappointment in her face. He really wanted to flee. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Stiles whined and dropped his head on the table. “I don’t  _ have _ an explanation.” 

“So say  _ that _ , at least.” said Derek. Stiles felt tears flood his eyes, and he sniffled, loudly. Now Derek had gotten him to cry at freaking McDonalds. 

He continued to cry, keeping his sounds as quiet as he could. After a moment, Derek reached out and touched his arm awkwardly, reassuringly, and Stiles felt the pain that had built up in his chest ease just a little. 

He didn’t know werewolves could take emotional pain, but obviously Derek was doing it. A few years ago it would have made Stiles angry. He would have wanted him to hurt if it was his fault. After the Nogitsune, god, how he had wanted himself to hurt. 

Now, though, he took some comfort in Derek’s hand and slowly calmed down enough so he dared to push his head off the table. Derek’s green-hazel-blue-brown-whatever eyes watched him calmly. Stiles nodded and took a shuddering breath. 

“Can you drive me to Lydia’s?” he asked. Derek nodded, finished his ice cream. Stiles tossed his in the trash can and they went back to the Camaro. 

* * *

“Will you wait for me?” Stiles said nervously and stared at Mrs Martin’s house. Derek turned off the engine and shifted back in the leather seat. 

“Sure,” he said. Stiles looked at him. 

“Can you come in with me?” 

Derek scoffed. So that was a no. 

Stiles winced and rubbed his face. He didn’t even realize he was whining like a kicked puppy before Derek actually petted his shoulder kindly.

“You’ve… been through worse,” Derek said, sounding awkward and constipated just saying it. Stiles knew that praise of any kind was buried under like a mile thick layer of ice surrounding Derek’s heart, so he actually felt encouraged hearing him. Stiles took a deep breath and nodded. 

“Yeah.” he said. “Yeah, sure. I’ve been through worse.” 

Unfortunately, walking from Derek’s car to Mrs Martin’s house was one of the hardest things he had ever done in his life. Actually knocking on the door was downright terrifying. 

When Lydia’s mom opened the door he felt his voice catch in his throat. 

“Is Lydia here?” he asked. Mrs Martin watched him, but it didn’t look like she hated him. It didn’t look like she was thrilled to see him, either, but he had expected hate. It actually made him a bit more hopeful about talking to Lydia. 

Mrs Martin let him in and Stiles followed her directions. Lydia was in her room, and he knew the path by heart. He stopped in front of her door and knocked. 

“Come in,” Lydia called from the other side. She sounded ill, like she had a cold. Stiles pushed into the room and realized it was because Lydia was crying. 

When she turned her sweet, angelic face towards him Stiles felt himself shake. Then, Lydia bounced up from the bed, rushed over and hugged him. When they pulled away they were both crying and Lydia guided him over to the bed. 

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles mumbled, his voice a flurried rush of tears, terror and pain. “I don’t know - I -” 

“It’s okay,” said Lydia and hugged him. She rubbed her hands over his back. Stiles realized that he was about to have another panic attack, but her soothing circles on his back stopped him. Stiles sobbed into her shoulder and Lydia kept mumbling sweet things. 

When he calmed down again he thought about what Derek said. If she’s so great, she deserves whatever explanation Stiles could give her. 

So he tried. He really did. He told her about the panic when she went down on one knee and the overwhelming feeling of no that rushed through him. How he wasn’t ready, even though that was the most stupid thing in the world, because he had been ready for her since he was six. 

Lydia just listened to his spew of words. She kept rubbing circles on his back until he was done. 

“I’m just so glad you’re okay, Stiles,” Lydia said when it was her turn. What she said made him feel guilty. Lydia shook her head. “I got so worried when you freaked out, and I didn’t want to leave, but then… I just didn’t know how to stay. I should have stayed and seen you.” 

“No!” Stiles gasped and shook his head quickly. “No, of course you had to leave, I just rejected your wedding proposal in front of everyone.” 

“Do you think I care about that?” Lydia snapped and gave him a sharp look. “I care about  _ you _ .”

“I care about you,” Stiles hiccupped. He did. He loved Lydia. But he didn’t want to marry her. That truth was almost the hardest to bear. “I can’t be your boyfriend.” 

Lydia didn’t argue with him. She nodded and kissed him and when they pulled away from each other both were once again crying. 

Stiles licked his lips. 

“I should go.” he said.

“Yeah,” said Lydia. “I love you, Stiles.” 

“I love you, too, Lydia,” said Stiles and stood, and as quickly as he could retreated to Derek’s Camaro. 

Derek drove him back home and Stiles got his luggage out from the trunk. He glanced at the other man in the driver's seat, watching him with those kaleidoscope eyes of his. Stiles shifted uncomfortably. 

“Thanks,” he said. 

“Sure,” said Derek. Stiles went back into his dad’s house and Derek drove off. His dad appeared from the kitchen and stared at him, and Stiles walked over and hugged him. 

“Can I stay here a little longer?” he asked, feeling small and fragile. 

“Of course,” his dad whispered. “I’m making hamburgers.” 

Neither of them argued about unhealthy breaks from diets and Stiles had to admit, his dad made pretty good hamburgers. 

* * *

Stiles stayed at his dad’s for a few weeks. He could move a few things around in his schedule so he didn’t have to fly back to Washington that urgently, and he cut down on his Adderall and ups the dose of Xanax. By the beginning of the third week he actually starts to feel like a human being again. 

Going out into Beacon Hills was a big no-no, however. By now Stiles was sure that news had spread about Lydia and his failed engagement and everyone and their aunt was sure to know the latest gossip. He didn’t want to face that, so by the time his dad’s house started to feel claustrophobic Stiles jumped into his jeep and started driving in a random direction. 

That random direction eventually turned into Derek’s loft, and suddenly Stiles knocked on Derek’s door and Derek opened up, shirtless. 

Stiles let his gaze travel over Derek’s rippling muscles, probably waxed free of every tiny little hair that dared grow where Derek didn’t want hair. Stiles raised an eyebrow. 

“Seriously, dude, don’t you ever eat?” he asked and shook his head. “Showing that much muscle isn’t healthy; fifteen procent body fat is optimal performance for men.”

Derek stood unblinkingly for a moment like he couldn’t figure out what Stiles was talking about, then he stepped to the side and allowed Stiles in. 

“I’m a werewolf,” Derek said. Stiles kicked off his shoes, snorted and wandered directly over to Derek’s couch. He plopped down and pulled his legs underneath him, then gave Derek a sharp look. 

“Pretty sure wolves are also supposed to have body fat.” he said. Derek closed the door. 

“I’m a  _ were _ -wolf,” he deadpanned. Stiles snorted again. 

“Even true alpha Scott has body fat,” Stiles grumbled and Derek ignored him. 

“I eat,” Derek maintained, looking sulky and called out. Stiles couldn’t help but smile. 

“Like, right now?” Derek raised an eyebrow and gave him one of his famous no-you-idiot looks. Stiles smiled wider. “I’m thinking thai or pizza.” 

He saw understanding blossom up in Derek’s face and Derek walked over to the coffee-table and grabbed his phone. 

“Thai,” he decided. 

“I want prawns in -” Stiles said. 

“Yes, I know, your usual,” Derek interrupted, then proceeded to order Stiles favourite thai order of the phone. Stiles watched him silently. Derek knew his thai order. He snorted, amused, when Derek ordered the least spicy of chicken for himself.

Okay, he thought to himself. Maybe it wasn’t that weird that Derek knew his go-to, because apparently Stiles knew Derek’s usual as well. 

They watched Netflix (Stiles’ account) on Derek’s laptop until the food arrived. Derek became really absorbed in Smallville, so they continued the series over food as well. It was late by the time Stiles drove back home to his dad’s house, after he had promised Derek that  _ yes, he was allowed to use Stiles’ Netflix account _ and  _ yes, he could continue watching Smallville without Stiles, Stiles didn’t mind.  _

Maybe Stiles should get Derek a spotify-account? The dude was like stuck in the early 90’s, it was a miracle he even owned a laptop. 

* * *

His dad drove him to the airport for the final time, and they didn’t stop at McDonald’s for ice cream. When they hugged goodbye his dad said how proud he was over him, and Stiles didn’t even cry once. 

* * *

“I can’t believe you’ve never been to Washington,” Stiles said, scandalized, as he showed Derek around the international spy museum. Derek shrugged and stared at a poison umbrella developed by the KGB. “You used to live in New York. It’s like, three hours drive.”

“Well I was kind of busy,” Derek said and shot him a sharp look. Stiles rolled his eyes. 

“Where was your sense of adventure, Derek?” Stiles shook his head. “I always thought when you returned to Beacon Hills that you were an adventurer, a real international man of mystery. Now I learn that your whole scary aura was nothing more than one of those New Yorker Hipster ploys!” 

Derek snorted. “I don’t know, it was pretty groovy.” 

Stiles snapped his head to him and stared. Did Derek just say  _ groovy _ ? Did that mean that Derek had watched Austin Powers? Derek looked so completely serious, but a smile was tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Groovy,” Stiles said and laughed loudly, his head tossed back in delight. Derek smiled. 

* * *

The next time Stiles came home to Beacon Hills Derek was the one who picked him up at the airport. His dad had to work, for real this time. Derek and he does not hug it out like Scott and he did, but Derek takes his luggage and drags it to the car. 

The Camaro’s polished, gleaming surface made it look straight of a spy movie. Stiles watched it longingly. 

“Can I drive?” he tried. Derek tossed his luggage in the trunk and slammed it closed. 

“No.” he said. Stiles grumbled but allowed Derek to take the wheel. 

Once they were almost home, Derek drove into a parking lot. Stiles watched the golden M sign and laughed. 

They both got McFlurries, and Derek let him try his flavour as they sat opposite each other at the table. Stiles shook his head. 

“Uh-uh,” he said. “How can you eat that?” 

Oreo was obviously superior to snickers. Derek scoffed. 

They finished their ice cream in silence, which of course meant that Stiles was talking and Derek glowered at him until he got provoked enough that he started arguing back, and Stiles felt uncharacteristically pleased with himself as they walked back to the car. 

“Head’s up,” said Derek and tossed the car keys at Stiles. Stiles barely caught them, and once he had he stared at them, and then at Derek. 

“Are you serious?” he asked, his face breaking into a wide grin. “You’re letting me drive?” 

Derek just shrugged and slid into the passenger's seat. Stiles whooped in glee, ran around the Camaro and hopped behind the wheel. 

“Hey baby, did you miss me?” he asked. 

“Stiles,” said Derek warningly. Stiles grinned at him and started the car. 

* * *

Stiles' work at the FBI took him all over the country. It was an awesome job that Stiles was good at. Special Agent Stilinski. It was also a demanding job, and travel could get hard, so obviously when a case took him close enough to Beacon Hills, and he was bored enough of hotel-rooms he called Derek to pick him up. 

The black, sleek Camaro rolled in an hour later while Stiles and his co-workers sat out in the last sunshine of the day, enjoying their dinner before each of them would draw back for an early night. 

“Whelp, that’s my ride,” Stiles said and bounced up, taking a last bite of his falafel. Jenine Addams glanced over to the car. 

“Damn, is that a Camaro?” she asked appreciatively. Derek jumped out of the car. By now Stiles' coworker's attention was on him and the car. Stiles just shrugged and grabbed his luggage. 

“That’s your boyfriend?” Jenine said, sounding even more appreciative. 

“Hey Baby, did you miss me?” Stiles called out when Derek approached. Derek shot him a glare, but it was all pretend. Stiles could see his ears turn a little pink and then, softly; 

“Yes.” 

“I was talking to the car.” Stiles grinned and kissed him. 

Derek made a long-suffering sigh and handed over the keys. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you got this far!


End file.
